


Male Reader X Female Master Chief

by CampGreen



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Literature, Romance, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 04:17:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampGreen/pseuds/CampGreen
Summary: My second action game-themed smut fic, this time with Microsoft's Halo.





	1. Knight in Shining Armor

_**"INCOMING!"** _

An orb of blue plasma the size of a huge beanbag chair crashes down onto the floor of the ruined town just like an artillery shell. Body parts, debris, and dirt particles shower down onto you and the remnants of your squad as the remaining four of you blench behind the cover of a crashed Warthog in stunned terror. You were so confident going into this battle. You outnumbered the Jackals and Grunts by three to one. The feeling of riding a Warthog gun into battle was a euphoric high that made you proud to be in the UNSC. Then the Elites in their Wraiths ambushed your unit. Like lambs to the slaughter, you all charged into the heart of the town to get massacred from every angle. This isn't your first firefight. You've seen death and brought it upon a handful of Covenant scum. But as you cower in the gore of your fallen brethren whilst bullets of alien energy whiz past you from all directions, you realize whether you survive this battle or not, you will never be the same. It would take an angel sent by God himself to save you and your humanity now. And that angel came. 

On a Mongoose, a woman charges into the core of the chaos, so close to you her wind and dust flashes past your face from behind her. She leaps off the motorcycle-esque vehicle and into the air, brandishing an Assault Rifle in one hand and a Frag Grenade in the other. The out-of-control Mongoose plows through the Covenant foot soldiers like a bowling ball, and an unpinned grenade falls from the sky to finish them off in one shattering chain explosion that you feel kick your heart as you watch like the audience of a theater blockbuster. She touches down on the smoky wreckage of the alien squad with a perfect landing, and through the thick blankets of murky smoke you can see her as she's swarmed by reinforcements only to take each and every one of them out. You don't, hell, can't even absorb the entire fight, the movements are so fast, it's something out of a martial arts movie. Punches, kicks, neck snaps, batterings with the butt of her weapons. The purple syringe-like cartridges of the Jackals' Needlers soar through the air with sharp accuracy. But not sharp enough. Even though each and every projectile is missing her despite such a massive, dominating presence throughout the battlefield, every bullet fired off from her rifle and Magnum lands with the precision of a surgeon, sending alien guts and brains to mix into the puddles of your comrades' blood painting the ground. 

The purple and blue liquid starts to occult the red, until the battle completely shifts and now the Covenant are being mercilessly slaughtered. An Elite jumps out of the shroud of fog, heralded by the blue glow of his Energy Sword. He grabs your savior by the shoulder and skewers her through the stomach with his technological saber. Your heart drops and all hope fizzles out of your soul from your eyes. Snapping out of the shock, you remember you're a soldier and get a Sniper Rifle out from the dirt, now evolved into mud from all of the fluids soaking the soil. You get the Elite's insectoid, armored head in your crosshairs and realize his jaw has been completely torn off. You lower the rifle and watch as the woman rips the Energy Sword back out of her own body, pins the Elite to the ground with his own weapon, and as he squirms and roars while he desperately tries to claw the sword out of his belly, she stomps on his head, shoves the barrel of her Magnum down his mangled throat, and squeezes the trigger, blowing his skull open so it looks like she took a sledgehammer to a watermelon. She shreds the sword back out of his stomach and starts butchering the other Elites with it in a three-on-one sword fight, eventually dismembering and hacking away at all of them like the sword was a machete and they were the matted greenery of a jungle. 

After watching in horror their alphas get effortlessly slaughtered by one woman, the whole armada of alien freaks retreat. As you gawk at the inspirational image of her staring down an entire Covenant division running and screaming in fear from her, her helmeted head suddenly snaps to you. She charges you and while you managed to keep your composure on the outside, you just about shit your pants at the sight of such a woman abruptly making a b-line to you. However, she merely swipes the sniper from your hands, gets in a crouch, and unloads four rounds into the cloud of mist protecting your enemies, each bellowing gunshot followed by a chorus of screams. The mist fades and there's not a single living alien in the entire town. With just four ricocheted bullets, she managed to finish off the entire fucking engagement that survived her close-quarters massacre. She shoves the emptied rifle back into your hands, and after a short silence, you and your fellow Marines erupt into the most passionate laughs and roars of victory in your young lives. What stands before you is the personification of humanity's will and might. 

A motherly, war-torn woman with muscles, cleavage, and curves so defined and unblemished they still shine through her bulky yet lightweight suit of weathered olive Spartan armor as powerfully as she herself shines like a star in the darkness of The Great War. You've heard of her, as every Marine has, once before. She's a living legend. Until now, you haven't met her in person, hell, you weren't even sure she existed, the way your peers described her you'd think she was the second coming of Christ. But now you understand. Years of intense training and experience has sharpened her body and mind into the perfect soldier, one who single-handedly matches an entire extraterrestrial military and then some. What towers above you like a goddess is the last surviving Spartan - the Master Chief. While she still manages to stand triumphantly among the strewn offal of the Covenant engagement, you notice how she's painfully, albeit silently, clutching the awful injury she endured earlier. Even for a Spartan, it's a mind-boggling miracle she can even stand. Half of you wanting to help her, the other half just wanting an excuse to talk to her like she's your crush, you point out her terrible condition after a few seconds of building up the courage.

 _"Master Chief!"_ you call out, scared to address such a brutish badass. _"We need to get you serious medical attention ASAP!"_

She slowly tilts her head towards you coupled with a long silence. You can feel her eyes burning through the golden visor. _"I think I'll manage,"_ her guttural, bone-chilling voice oozes out from her throat, filtered through her helmet.

_"B-But Chief, you were lanced by an Energy Sword! There's parts of your stomach that don't exist anymore!"_

_"If I'm still standing, I didn't need them."_

_"Chief, please!"_

_"If it'll get you to shut up, you can check me out when the Pelican arrives."_

After a few minutes of scavenging through the retired warzone for weapons, pulses, and dog tags, two dropships descend from the clouds and opens their back lids like a castle's draw bridge. You and the Chief hop onto one of them while the other very few survivors of the battle pile into the second ship, and after sealing shut, the couple of Pelicans take back off in route to the nearest light cruiser. The Chief lays her back down on a medical stretcher in the center of the compartment, and you begin stripping her armor off piece by piece. It fascinates you how worn the chunks of metallic plastic are. Its olive paint job is so chipped, scratched, and faded. Every centimeter of the thing contains the story of one of the thousands of battles the Chief has fought and won. Black smudges, dents, scrapes. Shaking yourself out from your daydreaming, you shed her out of her very last piece of clothing - the black catsuit squeezing her body as skintight as possible. You're surprised, but also not surprised, to see how deathly pale her skin is. It's surreal to see a person with the body of an Olympic athlete and the skin tone of someone who's never been outside in decades. 

Her brown, untidy hair is surprisingly long, her eyes are deeply sunken in ponds of darkness as if she has two thick black eyes, and her face is stern, worn, and littered with permanent scars, though past that, she's actually quite decent-looking. You're not here for a photo-shoot though, you're here to treat that wound of hers. If it were any other human, even any other Spartan, they would've been killed almost instantly, but the Chief is such an unfettered badass she's treating this all like a normal checkup. Around her belly button, within her adamantine eight-pack, are two nasty, smoldering slits messily stabbed through her torso. Taking a health pack from your back, you treat the lacerations with a thick coat of antiseptic followed by one of biofoam, finishing the treatment off with a few stitches to close the four coagulant-filled holes you then cover up with a thin wrapping of gauze around her lower torso. This is only the forth time you've done this, as a UNSC field medic. You never thought you'd ever be treating a Spartan, let alone the Master Chief herself. You were guided through the thankfully successful surgery by a handbook, and the final step mentions a medical massage to cool the patient's body down from the excruciating sting of the biofoam. Wanting to follow protocol to the letter, you alert the Chief that this might get a little awkward. 

_"Ma'am, the fifth and final step to the procedure is a full-body medical massage."_

_"You think I want your hands rubbing all over me?"_ she disdainfully asks as she sits up from the stretcher, ready to hop off. _"In your wet dreams, maybe."_

_"But Chief, it's medical protocol! You know how what kind of disasters an incomplete treatment could result in!"_

_"...ugh, fine."_ Suddenly she grabs you by the collar and yanks you face-to-face to her. _"But if you get too friendly, I'll show you a hell much worse than war, son, do you understand?"_

_"Y-Yes, ma'am!"_

She lets go and lays back down on the stretcher on her stomach. You gulp and start the massage at her shoulders, pleasuring and tuning every inch of her back, waist, legs, and feet with a well-crafted series of firm caresses and rubs. However, there's an elephant in the room your hands have been consciously avoiding for the entire rubdown - her ass. Two perfect spheres of flesh popping out the back of her waist, like two mountains standing side by side on the horizon. If you were to spank or even flick one of them, they'd jiggle for at least ten seconds, you'd bet your life on it. You gulp a second time and gradually ease the thigh massage up to the buttocks. She doesn't immediately rip your lungs out so you persist. Your fingertips get lost in what feels like an endless meadow of squishy flesh. The rest of her body is muscle with the consistency of diamond, but her ass is a whole different story. You have her turn over so you can massage her front. She's so chiseled it feels like you're rubbing down a statue, and as you mindlessly run your fingers through the paddock of skin, you snap out from the pleasure to your hands and realize you're instinctively squeezing the Chief's breasts. A terror far worse than any battle could ever inflict onto you incapacitates your body. You can't even let go or apologize, the Chief's morose scowl has you frozen up like Medusa's gaze. A palm whips across your face and nearly sends you to the floor, almost permanently imprinting a red hand mark onto your cheek. It was just a slap but it felt like a punch from a muscleman, and in a tranquil, unspoken rage, the Chief gets up off out of the bed to loom over you by well over a foot, still a monstrous brute even whilst ass naked.


	2. Training From Hell

_"I'm gonna crush that cheekiness out of you, son. How stupid could you be, thinking you could get away with copping a feel like that? You were hanging onto my tits like your fucking life depended on it."_

_"I-I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!"_ you finally manage to snap out of the trance of fear.

_"I'm gonna make you sorry after I discipline you, you disrespectful little faggot."_

A fist that could knock out a horse gouges into your stomach, paralyzing you with pain and sending you right to your knees, then straight to the ground. 

_"Give me twenty, soldier. I already did the first half by dropping you, now get on your hands and give me twenty."_

You battle through the pain and start doing push ups before she gets impatient, ignoring the hot glowing pain in your stomach and face. After mustering ten, she plops her ass down on your back and drops you straight to the floor like a lead balloon. 

_"What's the matter, soldier? If you can't carry a woman, what makes you think you can carry your wounded men through a battlefield? Give me ten more or I'll make this the worst day of your life."_

You try and try to push yourself off of the ground but she weighs like a fucking cow. It's not that you're weak, you couldn't imagine any man being able to do a single push up with the Chief sitting on their back. She's just doing this as an excuse to torture you. 

_"Your commanding officer is telling you to give her ten more push ups, soldier. Not doing so is insubordination, which is a serious crime I'll be happy to punish you for."_

_"I-I..."_ your voice quivers with strain as you actually manage to rise a few inches off the floor but no further than that. 

_"Whatever you do, don't fall down, soldier, that would just break my fucking heart. You do push ups slower than old people fuck, do you know that?"_

_"I can't!"_ you squeak as the last shaving of energy is crushed out of your body when the pressure on your back starts to grow to serious levels.

_"You're pathetic."_

She hops off of you right before her butt breaks your spine, letting you slump to the floor as a fire engulfs your armpits and back. Your lips happen to land on her the toes of one of her feet, and before you can pull yourself up, her other sole stomps down on your skull and bullies you into pitifully worshiping her feet as if she really was the goddess you always saw her as. The Chief wiggles her toes in between your lips and forces them onto your tongue, making you bathe her foot with nothing but your mouth. As you unwillingly smooch and lick her ankles and heels from between her legs, you can feel a warm liquid spilling down onto the back of your head from above, soaking your hair like a shampoo. After you submissively wetten every inch of her feet with the slathers of your tongue, she grabs a handful of your hair and yanks your eyes up to her middle with such strength that you almost get whiplash. Then she shoves the lower half of your head into her vagina as it profusely bleeds literally ounces upon ounces of juice that tastes like a fruity beverage. No normal woman could have such potent insides. Her vaginal walls acting as factories of actual buckets of lubrication are one of the thousands of side-effects to being genetically perfect from all the conditioning and steroids from the program. You reluctantly swallow every drop of it like it's a drinking fountain, but eventually your mouth overflows and it spills out onto your chin to drain down your neck like a waterfall. You have flashback to the time you were waterboarded as part of training, and you feel just as helpless as you did then. At least the taste is good. 

_"Oh, come on, soldier, I'm sure a fucking toothless grandmother could eat pussy better than you, make me cum already."_

Then you realize this is just the pre-cum. You stop licking for fear of drowning yourself by bringing forth an ejaculation, but she responds by clenching your head with her other hand, doubling the strength of her control, and forces you to dig in as deeply as possible. Your life flashes before your eyes as an orgasm with the quantity and force of a fire hose comes spraying down your throat. She makes absolutely certain every drop it of it goes into your mouth, and right before you pass out with your tongue tangled up in her snatch, she lets go. You fall to the ground and gag up about half of the supply of nectar she swamped your mouth with, while the rest escaped down your throat to fill your stomach for days to come. You make a puddle the size of a small pizza under your lips as they drip sap onto the floor, and you pant and wheeze like an old man since you were just nearly drowned by a cascade of Master Chief's pussy juice. Fatigue sinks your back to the ground, and through your blurry vision you can distinguish a blue hue in your skin. You can feel the damaged cells in your brain from the makeshift waterboarding, and your Id tries to convince you they were necessary sacrifices. The Chief takes advantage of your utter helplessness by popping your boots off and shredding your pants down to your ankles with a single yank of your pant leg, and sits down on your waistline with her back rearing over your chest, devouring your entire middle with her butt-cheeks like two gelatinous basketballs. 

_"I might've saved the universe but now I'm taking on the biggest burden of them all - letting my ass be the dumping ground for your cum so you can't contaminate the rest of humanity with it. Aren't I just a hero, soldier?"_

Your urethra meets her anus, and like a snake slowly swallowing a mouse, your cock is enveloped by the Chief's rectum, until you're balls deep inside of her, dick completely engulfed. That gorgeous ass you had the luxury of massaging earlier is now springing up and down on your midriff, pounding you as mercilessly and as brutally as she did to the Covenant earlier. You can feel the skin and bones around your legs bruising and quivering as a super-soldier forces you to take her up the ass. The Chief mannerly crosses her legs as she bounces up and down on your member. She sees you as nothing more than a throne to pass the time on during the long flight to the cruiser. She gives you an aside glance to taunt you with her absolutely emotionless face. Not a single peep escapes her lips, not even the tiniest little grunt or gasp. The only noises that fill the main compartment of the Pelican as it soars through space is your loud snivels and moans and her ass spanking up against your thighs several times a second. You sink your fingers into the Chief's sides as an orgasm approaches, and a giant cumshot swirls up into her large intestine like a half can of whipped cream. Without missing a beat, the Chief gets to her feet and starts changing back into her suit, cum still leaking out from in between her cheeks all the way down to her spit-stained ankles. 

_"Only you Marines could make hardcore anal boring,"_ she sighs as she slips back into her catsuit. 

_"...I-I'm sorry I couldn't satisfy you, ma'am,"_ you quietly apologize as you pull your pants up.

_"I won't be satisfied till I can make you a real man. It might take the entire fucking war, but I'll make you strong, I'll make you disciplined, and I'll make you a stallion. I'm not a miracle worker, though, there's not much I can do about that baby carrot someone stapled to your balls. I guess you'll just have to be a handicapable stallion."_

_"...You mean we're going to have training sessions like these every day?"_

_"No, genius, we're going to have training sessions every second we're not in combat."_

_"What?! B-But I don't have the stamina or strength to do that for hours on end, ma'am!"_

_"If you don't even have the strength to satisfy your partner, what makes you think you have the strength to drag your teammates around a warzone, or survive an artillery strike, or defeat an enemy in close-quarters? If you don't have the strength for it now, I'll get you that strength, one way or the other, whether you like it or not."_

_"S-Surely this is against some protocol..."_

_"You know what else is against protocol? A Marine lackey disobeying a direct order from a Spartan. Do you understand, son?"_

_"...Yes, ma'am."_

_"Once we get to the cruiser and I get all of the formal bullshit with the captain out the way, I want you in my room ASAP. Keep me waiting and I'll let you choose which bone I break."_

The realization that you've been devolved into a super-soldier's boy toy sinks in, and you look at the floor in shame as her mere presence decays any sense of assertiveness or dominance you once had by the second. This wasn't what you were expecting when you joined the UNSC. This wasn't what you were expecting when you first heard the legends of Master Chief. She grabs your chin and forces you to look her in the eye.

_"Listen, I've been fighting almost nonstop for 30 years. Ever since Noble Team died and I became the last Spartan, I've...felt...I want something to look forward to every day, alright? After all the fighting."_

_"...yes, ma'am."_

_"Call me Joan,"_ like a mother kissing her child's bruise, she plants a tiny smooch on the still hot slap imprint on your cheek. _"Oh, and if you tell anyone about this, I'm gonna rip your balls off in front of your squad."_

Right after she says that, the dropship's door opens to reveal the insides of a cruiser's landing bay. 

_"Later, soldier,"_ Joan says as she exits the Pelican and finishes her suit by snapping on her helmet. 

While every other living being in the universe either sees the Chief as a faceless, stoic demigod or an unstoppable devil, you might be one of the very few people to see this side of her. A lonely girl who doesn't know anything but warfare, with a strict need for dominance and a want to be with someone. You can't help but pity her, and if supporting humanity's war effort means nursing Joan's lust and loneliness under the guise of personal training to better her psyche, then you've been dealt with a pretty good hand in life. Time to start working out more.  



End file.
